Eliza Hamilton Fanart Novels & Stories

I call out, treading carefully as I enter. Amelia turns around with a wide smile. "Eliza," she enthusiastically greets, "I didn't know you were coming." "Second time today," I return her smile. "But I couldn't find you during breakfast. Or lunch." "I was painting," she says with yet another smile, motioning to the canvas lined up near her window. They're a lot, too detailed, the kind that would take an artist an eternity to achieve. Or more realistically, weeks if not days.

Eulalia, concerned about sticky teeth, just held the candied hawthorn in her palm. She wore a long red dress down to her ankles, her hair pinned back for the date, and light makeup that made her stunningly beautiful and hard to look away from. Walking down the street, they were occasionally snapped by passersby, but Percival forcefully stopped them, demanding they delete the photos. With makeup, Eulalia looked much healthier, her fine facial hair visible under the sun, though her neck veins were more pronounced than before. They avoided the thrilling rides at the amusement park—Eulalia’s skirt was impractical and her spirit low.

Both coming from opposite sides of the hall. Maya warned me this would happen. “Eliza’s dragging Lucille into her emo era,” she’d said. “It’ll be over before our parents get back.” The Calloways had been... exactly what I expected and nothing like it. Once I got over the fact that they all looked like clones — same blonde hair, same blue eyes — it was easier to realise they were actually really sweet. Eliza showed up halfway through dinner covered in purple and green paint, grabbed an apple from the fridge, turned around, saw me and Liam at the table — and completely froze, before trying to pull us into a hug.

“Didn’t you make your choice when you left?” “I’ve come to speak the truth, Amelia,” Eliza replied, stepping closer, the fire in her eyes fierce yet wounded. “You were hiding what you were while hunting down others like you.” She produced a small wooden token from her pocket—a token that once represented their friendship, now a symbol of all that had fallen apart.

Making his way down the hall, he knocked softly on her door. “Just a minute,” she called from deep within the room. The door opened, his breath catching in his throat at the sight. Eliza was dressed in a white, cotton sundress that fell to just above her knees, the color throwing her golden skin into stark relief. Her long red hair had been curled into wavy ringlets and fell to the middle of her back. With the light application of eye makeup, her hazel-green eyes shone brilliantly. He took a breath, or his best attempt at one anyway, and smiled. “You look beautiful,” he spoke softly, reverently.

Not like lightning. Quietly. Like a lock turning. She knew exactly what she wanted to paint. The canvas grew quickly after that. A field appeared first. Golden. Endless. The farm. Then the oak tree. Strong. Ancient. Unmoving. Beneath it stood a little girl. Jessica at eight years old. Holding a flower crown. Looking toward the horizon. Then something new. Something she'd never painted before. A second figure stood further ahead. Older. Walking away from the tree.

Everything Elaine did was for tomorrow, for the future, so much so that the world around her was nothing more than a phase, and the people were simply stepping stones towards a brighter tomorrow. The ebony-haired girl took every muddy step with purpose, her body as stoic as a princess. It was tragically ironic, really, how beautiful she was, even covered in mud. The worst part of all was that Elaine knew it too, and the only time she utilised her looks was when it would be to her advantage. More often than not, she was dressed in simple colors, her hair untouched and unkempt, with a scowl that could scare away the dark. It was mud-covered and scowling, however, that made Andrew want to take

Damian asked. "Y-Yes," Amelia said. Damian called for the lady and gave her the sketch that Amelia had chosen. The lady smiled as she took the notebook. "We'll have it ready in 5 days," she said and showed a business smile. Damian nodded, not saying anything. Amelia smiled and bowed at the lady before leaving with Damian whose arms were snaked around her waist.

His eyes are on me, cold and hostile, "However, I want to warn you. You can only choose Eliza to be your Luna, or no Luna at all. I vowed to her father—my Beta, second in command—that I would permit his daughter to be my son's Luna! Prepare yourself, then, to reject whoever ends up being your partner." He declares. Eliza is considered the most beautiful Omega she-wolf in this pack. Also, in my point of view, she wasn't bad either untill we celebrated our seventeenth birthday.. She had a shy personality but was a social butterfly. However, she changed overnight, like someone- Whatever, she is not my type. Probably I just don't want to resolve my world around those people who are favoured by m

Kale POV Elizabeth Vance. The only child of the Pack General, Marcus Vance. Seventeen years old. Spoiled rotten, but somehow she had still grown into the kind of young lady everyone respected. Polished. Poised. The perfect arm candy for a dinner like this. Her hobbies were writing, reading, and other boring activities that were almost identical to Rhea’s….. My fist tightened around the file page, crinkling the edge. The photo of Elizabeth, with her blonde hair so similar to mine but green eyes instead of blue, stared back at me with a perfect smile. Perfect everything.